A late lunch soaked up the rum punch and, with the ship not sailing until 11pm there was plenty of
time to walk into the town. The cruise terminal was a half mile along the quay and provided an
interesting walk past the MV Tower Block that was both spilling out and reabsorbing Americans in
two constant streams.
More leisurely examination of the Cruise Terminal was possible on this occasion as there was no need
to rush for a place on the coach. The scale of the operation and nature of the shops underlined the
message from the morning's tour: Barbados was a wealthy island. There was poverty, certainly, but
overall the standard of living was higher. Even the independent traders, set up in what was in effect a
moderate sized shopping mall, were traders rather than purveyors of home made crafts and a few
bought-in trinkets. These people had stock and probably kept accounts.
The first part of the road away from the terminal had been carefully landscaped, the beach replaced with rock defences which a cynic might suggest was to ensure that the dollar rich did not linger where they could not spend their greenbacks. White egrets haunted the fish market where a man slept with his rum bottle in the shade of the ice machine.
On the other islands poverty was shared and equal for the majority while here the riches had created deprivation, a destitute underclass and the man with his bottle was just the first. Doorways and walls provided shelter for this other world, barely living in the shadow of the apartment blocks and businesses. Across the smallest marina a huge catamaran, packed with fun-seekers came into view, its decks filled with shrieks and laughter, painful red skin and hang-overs for later.
"On a trip around the islands - it was very nice," replied James.
"You went on the photographers' trip didn't you?"
"Yes, and you?"
"I walked into town. It was lovely: proper shops and none of those shanties. Those other ports were so depressing."
Surprisingly the coach for the trip to the North West of the island was air-conditioned although later reports suggested that some other trips were not so lucky. The guide, Leanna was young, enthusiastic and almost immediately a sworn enemy.
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Our trip today will visit a batik factory, some famous landmarks and then you will have an hour and a half on the beach with a glass of rum punch and then we will return to the ship." So far so good. "This is Herman our driver and he has agreed to show you just how steep some of the roads around Castries can be. Herman is the best driver and he will need to be." A number of passengers with no imagination clapped and called out "Jolly good Herman," "Well done Leanna." One passenger said absolutely nothing and started to count the number of repeats in the pattern of the material covering the seat in front.
"We call this the roller-coaster," announced Leanna as the bus headed skywards and then plummeted down.
"We are going to stop here for a wonderful view of the harbour and Castries. There are many stalls and the people will try to sell you things. If you don't want anything just politely say no but please remember this is how they feed their families."
"Hello. German? You German bitte." A brilliant tactic as 99% of English people could ignore "Where are you from?" but are unable to resist correcting anyone who takes them for Germans.
The first part of the road away from the terminal had been carefully landscaped, the beach replaced with rock defences which a cynic might suggest was to ensure that the dollar rich did not linger where they could not spend their greenbacks. White egrets haunted the fish market where a man slept with his rum bottle in the shade of the ice machine.
On the other islands poverty was shared and equal for the majority while here the riches had created deprivation, a destitute underclass and the man with his bottle was just the first. Doorways and walls provided shelter for this other world, barely living in the shadow of the apartment blocks and businesses. Across the smallest marina a huge catamaran, packed with fun-seekers came into view, its decks filled with shrieks and laughter, painful red skin and hang-overs for later.
---OOO---
"Where did you go today?""On a trip around the islands - it was very nice," replied James.
"You went on the photographers' trip didn't you?"
"Yes, and you?"
"I walked into town. It was lovely: proper shops and none of those shanties. Those other ports were so depressing."
---OOO---
The ship was followed into Castries, St Lucia by the same two super-cruisers making it inevitable that
taxis and coaches would be at premium and that the large lines like Carnival and Celebrity Cruises,
wielding wads of dollars would inevitably have first pick.Surprisingly the coach for the trip to the North West of the island was air-conditioned although later reports suggested that some other trips were not so lucky. The guide, Leanna was young, enthusiastic and almost immediately a sworn enemy.
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Our trip today will visit a batik factory, some famous landmarks and then you will have an hour and a half on the beach with a glass of rum punch and then we will return to the ship." So far so good. "This is Herman our driver and he has agreed to show you just how steep some of the roads around Castries can be. Herman is the best driver and he will need to be." A number of passengers with no imagination clapped and called out "Jolly good Herman," "Well done Leanna." One passenger said absolutely nothing and started to count the number of repeats in the pattern of the material covering the seat in front.
"We call this the roller-coaster," announced Leanna as the bus headed skywards and then plummeted down.
"We are going to stop here for a wonderful view of the harbour and Castries. There are many stalls and the people will try to sell you things. If you don't want anything just politely say no but please remember this is how they feed their families."
"Hello. German? You German bitte." A brilliant tactic as 99% of English people could ignore "Where are you from?" but are unable to resist correcting anyone who takes them for Germans.
"Hello, German? Ja."
"Certainly not."
"Ah English, whereabouts? London? Yorkshire?"
"No Surrey actually."
A conversation had begun and the vendor drew the punter in like a fish on a line.
A series of wooden terraces were cantilevered and propped out from the edge of the road. The timber looked new and reliable and inviting enough to allow access to the first level. Many went further but then the American's arrived. It would be an unfair stereotype to paint all Americans as gross or obese - they aren't but the first ten approaching the now flimsy-looking wooden platform certainly weren't thin. As the adipose avalanche rolled towards the terraces the British visitors made headlong for the solidity of the road clutching the purchases that they swore they were not going to buy. Once again on board the coach Herman demonstrated more of his adrenalin releasing generosity and managed to drive down to the batik factory by going up an awful lot first.
Arrival at the batik factory at about the same time as six more coach-loads of Americans.
"Rudi, take my picture with this little girl," as a large American arm embraced a surprised shop assistant. Rudi took the snap and then rummaged in his pockets,
"I've only got tens, you got a one, Mo?"
"Sure, I keep them in a pocket in my purse." She pule out a crumpled bill and offered it to the girl. "What do you want to buy Madam?"
"No honey, that's for the photograph."
"No thank you, I'm not a model."
The offended look on the American faces lasted only a moment as they moved on into the shop. "Where are the lavatories, please?"
"Just join that queue and you'll get there."
A red faced woman, coming from around the corner which swallowed up the line picked up the tail end of the interaction.
"It's outrageous, there are only two cubicles - humph - call themselves a tourist attraction."
When it was time to return to the coach and significant proportion of passengers had seen no batik unless the person in front of them in the toilet queue happened to be wearing some. The trip had left the ship less than an hour before.
Herman's generosity knew no bounds and we rose vertically away from the batik factory to get down to sea level and Pigeon Island.
A round of slightly embarrassed affirmatives.
"The Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow's ship is here in the marina to your left." A small three-masted schooner was moored alongside a pontoon.
"It's not big enough."
"No, you don't understand, they use models."
"What, models of Johnny Depp?"
"No, silly, model ships."
"So the actors would have to be miniatures as well."
"Johnny Depp's not tall."
"He isn't that blooming' short."
"You have twenty minutes here and then we go to the beach," announced Leanna.
Below the mount were the remains of an old fort, now part bar part restaurant with the excursionists' favourite - toilets.
"Certainly not."
"Ah English, whereabouts? London? Yorkshire?"
"No Surrey actually."
A conversation had begun and the vendor drew the punter in like a fish on a line.
A series of wooden terraces were cantilevered and propped out from the edge of the road. The timber looked new and reliable and inviting enough to allow access to the first level. Many went further but then the American's arrived. It would be an unfair stereotype to paint all Americans as gross or obese - they aren't but the first ten approaching the now flimsy-looking wooden platform certainly weren't thin. As the adipose avalanche rolled towards the terraces the British visitors made headlong for the solidity of the road clutching the purchases that they swore they were not going to buy. Once again on board the coach Herman demonstrated more of his adrenalin releasing generosity and managed to drive down to the batik factory by going up an awful lot first.
Arrival at the batik factory at about the same time as six more coach-loads of Americans.
"Rudi, take my picture with this little girl," as a large American arm embraced a surprised shop assistant. Rudi took the snap and then rummaged in his pockets,
"I've only got tens, you got a one, Mo?"
"Sure, I keep them in a pocket in my purse." She pule out a crumpled bill and offered it to the girl. "What do you want to buy Madam?"
"No honey, that's for the photograph."
"No thank you, I'm not a model."
The offended look on the American faces lasted only a moment as they moved on into the shop. "Where are the lavatories, please?"
"Just join that queue and you'll get there."
A red faced woman, coming from around the corner which swallowed up the line picked up the tail end of the interaction.
"It's outrageous, there are only two cubicles - humph - call themselves a tourist attraction."
When it was time to return to the coach and significant proportion of passengers had seen no batik unless the person in front of them in the toilet queue happened to be wearing some. The trip had left the ship less than an hour before.
Herman's generosity knew no bounds and we rose vertically away from the batik factory to get down to sea level and Pigeon Island.
---OOO---
"Who saw Pirates of the Caribbean?"A round of slightly embarrassed affirmatives.
"The Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow's ship is here in the marina to your left." A small three-masted schooner was moored alongside a pontoon.
"It's not big enough."
"No, you don't understand, they use models."
"What, models of Johnny Depp?"
"No, silly, model ships."
"So the actors would have to be miniatures as well."
"Johnny Depp's not tall."
"He isn't that blooming' short."
---OOO---
Pigeon Island is a lump of volcanic rock, three hundred feet high joined to the mainland by a man-
made, palm lined causeway. Herman brought the bus to a halt."You have twenty minutes here and then we go to the beach," announced Leanna.
Below the mount were the remains of an old fort, now part bar part restaurant with the excursionists' favourite - toilets.
A crocodile of the bladder-fixated wound its way towards the fort, on a bearing that would bypass the
very clean looking wooden building proudly displaying a broken sign advising that the nearest door
was an entrance for WOM. A lone figure appeared and sprinted past the crocodile and dived through
the door under the WOM sign necessitating a look at the far end of the wooden building to check how
it was labelled because the dashing figure had been Herman. The far door was clearly labelled MEN.
Perhaps Herman's driving and choice of road had caused him such fear that the closest call was
required.
Back in the coach for the short journey to the furthest destination, and Herman chose a flat route without so much as a camber to climb.
"OK ladies and gentlemen, we are at the beach. We will be here for one hour and twenty minutes. I will give you two wrist bands, a red one for your complimentary sun bed and a green one for your complimentary drink: rum punch, beer, water or fruit juice. If you want to hire an umbrella they are $10 US," Leanna advised the group.
Every excursion is accompanied by a member of the ships crew or ancillary staff: entertainers, future cruise sales folk and the like. This trip had Bob. No one was very clear about Bob's role on board but it clearly did not rely on his leadership skills or his voice projection. Odd words from his announcement filtered past the deafening sound of people breathing.
"Don't . . . . . . . end . . . . drowned . . . . . stay on your sun beds."
The crowd exited the coach, torn between the toilets and securing the best sun-bed.
"Excuse me, but I missed your announcement, Bob."
"I said Don't swim at the ends of the beach as we cannot be responsible and last year we had a woman who nearly drowned. But it will be alright because we trust you all to stay on your sun beds."
"Ah. I see but there's a problem with this, I'm not going to sit on a sun bed. I'm going to have a drink and then walk to the north end of the bay and then down to the south end, stopping for another drink as I pass the bar." He blanched.
"You can't. It's dangerous you might drown and anyway you aren't allowed a second drink."
"I'm not going to swim. I'm going to take photographs of the wildlife."
"There isn't any wildlife. Please stay on a sunbed."
"No." He looked affronted but then tried the other tack.
"But you can't have another drink - you've only got one green arm band."
"I have dollars."
"Oh. Please be careful."
"I will, I will."
"Hey bud, that's some camera you got there."
"Does the job."
"What job's that - looks like a long lens you've got there - you looking for the pretty girls?"
"No," reddening, "insects, butterflies and the like."
"Well I sure as hell wouldn't waste all that glass on bugs. Still, you stopping for a beer?"
"Put your hand up if you're not here," he attempted to quip and then counted the group for the third time. For some benighted reason he did not want Leanna to allow people onto the coach until all were present and correct, preferring that the group stand in the burning midday sun.
"It's the couple with matching tee shirts," someone offered, "they've probably fallen asleep on the sun loungers."
Back in the coach for the short journey to the furthest destination, and Herman chose a flat route without so much as a camber to climb.
"OK ladies and gentlemen, we are at the beach. We will be here for one hour and twenty minutes. I will give you two wrist bands, a red one for your complimentary sun bed and a green one for your complimentary drink: rum punch, beer, water or fruit juice. If you want to hire an umbrella they are $10 US," Leanna advised the group.
Every excursion is accompanied by a member of the ships crew or ancillary staff: entertainers, future cruise sales folk and the like. This trip had Bob. No one was very clear about Bob's role on board but it clearly did not rely on his leadership skills or his voice projection. Odd words from his announcement filtered past the deafening sound of people breathing.
"Don't . . . . . . . end . . . . drowned . . . . . stay on your sun beds."
The crowd exited the coach, torn between the toilets and securing the best sun-bed.
"Excuse me, but I missed your announcement, Bob."
"I said Don't swim at the ends of the beach as we cannot be responsible and last year we had a woman who nearly drowned. But it will be alright because we trust you all to stay on your sun beds."
"Ah. I see but there's a problem with this, I'm not going to sit on a sun bed. I'm going to have a drink and then walk to the north end of the bay and then down to the south end, stopping for another drink as I pass the bar." He blanched.
"You can't. It's dangerous you might drown and anyway you aren't allowed a second drink."
"I'm not going to swim. I'm going to take photographs of the wildlife."
"There isn't any wildlife. Please stay on a sunbed."
"No." He looked affronted but then tried the other tack.
"But you can't have another drink - you've only got one green arm band."
"I have dollars."
"Oh. Please be careful."
"I will, I will."
---OOO---
Away from the smell of flesh roasting in Ambre Solaire or its modern equivalent the beach was
beautiful. Sharp sand under foot and between the toes, warm, clear water around the ankles (well that
was deep enough) and butterflies dancing under the fringing palms. Six species of butterfly, some
beetles and some bugs belied the suggestion that there was no wildlife. At the other end of the beach
was a shack selling beer to locals and a middle aged, ex-pat American."Hey bud, that's some camera you got there."
"Does the job."
"What job's that - looks like a long lens you've got there - you looking for the pretty girls?"
"No," reddening, "insects, butterflies and the like."
"Well I sure as hell wouldn't waste all that glass on bugs. Still, you stopping for a beer?"
---OOO---
Back at the rendezvous Bob was fretting about his numbers."Put your hand up if you're not here," he attempted to quip and then counted the group for the third time. For some benighted reason he did not want Leanna to allow people onto the coach until all were present and correct, preferring that the group stand in the burning midday sun.
"It's the couple with matching tee shirts," someone offered, "they've probably fallen asleep on the sun loungers."
"While you go and find them we'll get on the coach."
"But we're not all here yet."
"Never mind that, pretty soon I'll be too well done to be edible if we don't get into shade soon." The party moved mutinously towards the door of the coach which Herman obligingly opened.
The quite prim little man with the grey slacks, tucked in polo shirt, socks in sandals and the very surprising diamond stud in his left ear, positioned himself under one of the library lights, held his iPad in front of his face, checked that the 'webcam' was working and then made his call. Like many mobile 'phone users he immediately forgot two things. He forgot that anyone else was present and he also forgot that the telephone or, in this case iPad, doesn't require the user to raise his voice. To make matters worse the recipient of the call had also forgotten these two things so both sides of the conversation were easily audible throughout the library.
"HELLO."
"HELLO."
"IT'S ME."
"YES DAD, IT'S A VIDEO LINK WE CAN SEE EACH OTHER."
"YES I CAN SEE YOU," and then to his wife, in a whisper no doubt in deference to the library's rule, "It's John, can you see him? Give him a wave."
"HELLO MUM. HOW ARE YOU GETTING ON?"
"ALL RIGHT, JOHN, THANK YOU. YOUR FATHER'S PROBLEM HAS FLARED UP THIS WEEK SO SITTING DOWN'S QUITE PAINFUL. HE FORGOT HIS RUBBER RING."
Once more in a hushed and admonishing tone, "Joan, John doesn't want to know about that," and then even quieter, "my haemorrhoids." It did not occur to either of them that everyone in the library now knew nor that this unwilling audience were hoping that they would find out no more.
Thankfully the conversation veered away from medical matters but did include a rather damning critique of a couple who shared the caller's dining table and then the hapless listeners were treated to the tragic tale of John's children's hamster and its one brief encounter with the family cat.
"But we're not all here yet."
"Never mind that, pretty soon I'll be too well done to be edible if we don't get into shade soon." The party moved mutinously towards the door of the coach which Herman obligingly opened.
---OOO---
Back on board, having returned from the beach along a perfectly flat road, it was time to go to the
library and write the blog. "LIBRARY, Please observe silence in the library in consideration to other
guests," the notice proclaimed. The rule was not strictly adhered to but conversations and even jig-saw
puzzle wars were carried out in hushed tones. The library is also one of the areas with WiFi internet
access. It was, therefore, inevitable that the silence rule would be broken from time to time by
passengers using Skype or the apple video-messaging service.The quite prim little man with the grey slacks, tucked in polo shirt, socks in sandals and the very surprising diamond stud in his left ear, positioned himself under one of the library lights, held his iPad in front of his face, checked that the 'webcam' was working and then made his call. Like many mobile 'phone users he immediately forgot two things. He forgot that anyone else was present and he also forgot that the telephone or, in this case iPad, doesn't require the user to raise his voice. To make matters worse the recipient of the call had also forgotten these two things so both sides of the conversation were easily audible throughout the library.
"HELLO."
"HELLO."
"IT'S ME."
"YES DAD, IT'S A VIDEO LINK WE CAN SEE EACH OTHER."
"YES I CAN SEE YOU," and then to his wife, in a whisper no doubt in deference to the library's rule, "It's John, can you see him? Give him a wave."
"HELLO MUM. HOW ARE YOU GETTING ON?"
"ALL RIGHT, JOHN, THANK YOU. YOUR FATHER'S PROBLEM HAS FLARED UP THIS WEEK SO SITTING DOWN'S QUITE PAINFUL. HE FORGOT HIS RUBBER RING."
Once more in a hushed and admonishing tone, "Joan, John doesn't want to know about that," and then even quieter, "my haemorrhoids." It did not occur to either of them that everyone in the library now knew nor that this unwilling audience were hoping that they would find out no more.
Thankfully the conversation veered away from medical matters but did include a rather damning critique of a couple who shared the caller's dining table and then the hapless listeners were treated to the tragic tale of John's children's hamster and its one brief encounter with the family cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment